To Be Loved
by MorganKnight19
Summary: People come to Ghost Town, Texas for a reason. Either to get away or to find something. From war weary veterans of the Omnic Crisis, to refugees, to Japanese clans looking to expand their empire. Whatever the reason, people come to Ghost Town and they never leave quite the same. Updates every Tuesday.
1. War is Hell

_War is hell_ , Bastion thought as death surrounded him. He was in a field of blood and missing body pieces. The chaos around him, the bombs exploding the screams of dying men, were a grim reminder of where he was: in a physical hell on earth in some god-forsaken spot where people were dying left and right of him.

 _What are we even fighting for_ , he miserably thought as he barely avoided an exploding shell. He dove into the muck and the mud. It seeped into his clothes, weighing him down. Bastion pulled himself up. _Is he even worth it?_

He was Tekhartha Mondatta.

A big deal in the omnic community. If there was a face to put to the omnic civil rights movement, it would be Mondatta. He descended from the lofty mountains of Nepal and spoke of civility and peace. He spoke to anyone who would listen to his ideals and slowly but surely, he gained a massive following. People and omnics came together and in ten years' time, Mondatta and his followers tamed the world and saved it from an all-out war. A tense peace fell over the world. No one had wanted to go to war but the itch to fight was still strong.

People came to accept omnics. Maybe not as equals, Bastion doubted that day would ever really come but things improved leagues from where they were. Omnics could walk the streets without fear of being kidnapped and stripped of their parts. The world wasn't a powder keg ready to explode anymore. For a small time, life was good until the day the Skin Program came out. From what he had heard, the Skin Program was good - too good. The program made omnics look human a little bit too well. Suddenly, the scores of omnics were, as far as anyone could tell, human. Outrage sparked the omnic civil rights debate back to life.

Opponents of the Skin Program, SP for short, argued that omnics masquerading as human was unjust. It was, as they called it, "false advertising". There was no way to tell the difference between a human and an omnic who used SP. It wasn't "us" versus "them"; it was "us" versus "an unseen omnic". Paranoia crept onto humanity and swallowed it whole. Riots broke out like wildfire. People, who were once perfectly rational, attacked anyone who exhibited what they thought was omnic behavior.

There were more humans killed during the attacks than actual omnics.

Mondatta stepped back to his podium. He hid his anger well and spoke with the eloquence and elegance that everyone expected of him. Mondatta was the voice of reason in an insane world. Those in favor of allowing omnics to keep using SP, touted him every and any chance they had. It was hard to show support for the attacks against omnics when Mondatta was on the other side. He was a highly respected figure during the debates and unrest. Some people called him a holy man, others a saint, a few referred to the monk as an anarchist, but Bastion knew what he called the famed man: Dead.

In the middle of a speech, proclaiming tranquility and harmony for omnics and their new updated skin, Mondatta was shot by an unknown assassin and was pronounced dead at the scene. His death set the world on fire.

In an instant, armies across the globe were set out to do battle. Bastion was one of many to be called into action. He didn't have an opinion on omnics one way or the other. He had seen battle before. Bastion was an old soldier. He knew the personal, not the financial, cost of war and the toll it had on everyone. He wasn't here to have some grand last stand and die like a dog in the trenches. No, he was here to get out alive. This wasn't his war. He didn't have an interest whether or not omnics had the right to look human.

 _Why would anyone want to be human_ , he thought bitterly.

As far as he knew, omnics never killed each other because of different opinions. Bastion raised his gun and pulled the trigger. One man went down. He fired his gun again. Another man died. He never knew what hit him. Again and again, without missing a shot, Bastion killed anyone who was in the field. He felt no triumph, no thrill, from killing. He was tired of it all. Bastion moved on. There was more killing to be done. He kept out of sight and stayed in the thick forest for cover. He was in enemy territory but saw no one ready to attack or kill him. It was too quiet. The shells stopped exploding. The ringing in his ears was present.

 _Did they book it_?

It was the tail-end of the war. The opposition, those maniacal few who had gladly celebrated Mondatta's death, were holed up in a small part of the expansive forest. Unlike Bastion, they were prepared to go out with a bang. Reports from headquarters indicated that they were collecting and storing up a massive amount of guns, bombs, ammo – you named it, they had it. It was Bastion's unit, a special ops group that excelled in stealth, whose duty it was to clear the way for the tanks that would settle the war on the enemy's base. Bastion was glad for it. They were so close. Another day or so and the war would be over. He could go home, back to his tiny apartment in New York, and live out the rest of his days in peace.

Thunder roared overhead. Bastion groaned. That was perfect. As if stomping through the mud and dying in the heat wasn't bad enough. The rain would bog them down. It would make setting up camp harder. The mud would cause their camps to sink and they would be sleeping in the rain. It made Bastion's bones ache. He didn't think he could stand it if he had to sleep one more damn time in the rain.

 _Please, let it be over. Please._

He couldn't do this anymore. The killing was never-ending. The deaths were nonstop. Sometimes, it felt like the war would never end. The days merged with each other into one endless, hellish day. The building storm rumbled and let loose a torrent of rain. The droplets felt like bullets against his unprotected skin. Bastion wanted to scream.

 _LET IT END_ , he wanted to shout. _FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, LET IT END!_

Were they really fighting over skin? Skin? This is what people were dying for? For a stupid program? Bastion continued on. If he could just finish clearing the path, then he could go home. He could leave this hell. He could finally leave. Then with a flash of light and a bang, the forest was on fire. Bastion was thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion. He scrambled for cover.

Through the storm and explosions, a mad, cackling laughter rang out. That's when Bastion saw him. Standing on top of a pile of rubble, throwing caution to the wind, was a man. In each hand was a grenade. He howled wildly as he bombed the field with his explosions.

"COME ON, YOU BASTARDS! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?"

Bastion steadied his gun. This guy would be a pain in the ass. But what was one more death if it meant this ended faster? He wrapped his finger around the trigger. A grenade was hurled in his direction. Fire devastated the area.

 _Those aren't ordinary grenades,_ Bastion realized. Normal grenades didn't have that kind of blast radius that the man was throwing. Bastion moved farther right. He was sure that the man hadn't seen him.

"I KNOW YOU WANKERS ARE OUT THERE!"

A wave of grenades flooded the area. Bastion ran for his life. The mud and rain made running hard. He was couldn't see at tall. A grenade exploded close to him. Something sharp torn into his leg. Bastion gasped in pain. He fell over into a ditch. He looked down at this leg. A thin jagged piece of metal was sticking out. Blood gushed forward.

"Damn it."

He wouldn't be walking or running with his leg like this. Bastion pressed a button on his visor. "This is unit 663, requesting medical back-up. I'm in the northern part of the forest. I repeat this is unit 663, requesting medical back-up. I'm in-"

There was no response. The visor that allowed him to contact his comrades was fizzed out. The high-tech visor that the higher-ups promised would never fail in the heat of battle was nothing more than an extremely expensive bike helmet. Bastion reached for his back-up radio.

"This is unit 663, requesting medical back-up. I repeat unit 663, requesting medical back-up."

There was no response. Static hissed through the radio. Bastion cursed. He would have to wait for help but help would not come if that firebug was in the way. It would be tricky but Bastion had killed stronger and tougher men than the maniac who was laughing his head off. Grunting, Bastion got on his knees. He peeked out of the ditch and saw in front of him was a member of his unit. Half of his face was burnt away and shrapnel riddled his body. The body armor did nothing to protect him. It let the fire roast him alive.

 _I am sorry, my friend_.

He steadied his gun on the side of the fallen soldier. The pain from his leg distracted him. He couldn't fire in his condition. For the first time, in a very long time, Bastion used the scope of the gun to take aim. He saw the grenade throwing man and he could not pull the trigger. The man was no man at all. The grenade throwing maniac was barely a teenager. He had to be fourteen, maybe fifteen years-old.

 _They're using children_ , Bastion froze as terror came over him, _they're using children soldiers_.

Terror gave way to anger.

War was something that no man should have to go through but to use children? No, he wouldn't accept it. How could he ever? What low-life would use children to fight in a hopeless war? Bastion centered himself and prepared to take the kid's life. He didn't want to. More than anything in this world or the next, more than he wanted to leave this hellish scene and escape military life, Bastion did not want to shoot that kid. He peered through the scope. The kid was bone skinny. He didn't have a shirt on – just the dog tags from his unit jangling from his neck as he hopped up and own while he threw his grenades.

"WOO WHAT A LOVELY DAY!"

The kid shouldn't have been here, hooting and hollering like school let out for summer vacation. How did someone like this kid even end up here? How did he come to end up in this hell? Where was his family? Did they know where he was? Did they know what he was doing? Did he know what he was doing? Did he think it was a game? Did he actually know that he was killing people? Bastion hoped that he didn't. Steady hand on the trigger, Bastion prepared to kill the blond boy.

A grenade exploded right in front of him. The flames licked his bare skin. He dove into the cool mud. His eyes felt like they were going to rupturing. Blisters bubbled over his face. Bastion threw his gun to the ground. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth this pain. In his heart, he couldn't kill this kid. He would leave the deed to another man and let him deal with the guilt. Bastion crawled in the ditch. There was a camp, not too far to the right. If he could make it there then possibly he could receive medical attention. Bastion grabbed his gun and used it as a makeshift cane. He kept low as he limped away. Every part of his body screamed at him to stop and rest. But he couldn't - stopping meant death.

The ditch led into an open field. There were a line of trees blocking the kid's sight. He wouldn't be able to hit what he couldn't see. Bastion limped. A little bit more and he would be home free. Bastion hobbled to the field. On the other side, he could see the camp. It was a dingy little thing but to Bastion, there was no better sight in the world.

He set foot onto the field and the next thing he knew, he was surrounded by fire. Pain rocketed through his legs which was then followed by a numb situation. Bastion was in the air and then he was on the ground, drowning in the mud. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He was numb. The mines he had stepped on set off a chain reaction. The blonde kid laughed hysterically.

"I GOT 'IM, ROADIE! LOOK AT THAT! I TOLD YA I WOULD GET 'IM!"

The rain let up as the tanks came roaring through. They passed through the muck without stopping. The kid stopped laughing and disappeared. Airplanes could be heard overhead. Reinforcements were on the way. Bastion opened his mouth and cried out for help but nothing came. He screamed for help but nothing came. Soldiers marched through the devastated area, keeping clear of the mine field. They didn't see Bastion. They marched through without ever knowing there was a man down. Any hope that Bastion had of being found was gone. He laid in the ravaged field for hours. Bastion fought to stay alive as the cold set in. He had lost the sensation in his legs and his face hours ago.

 _I want to go home._

He just wanted to go home to his tiny little apartment. Bastion heard, of all things, chirping. He saw a flash of yellow – was it another bomb? Bastion closed his eyes and waited for oblivion but oblivion never came. The chirping got louder. Bastion weakly opened his eyes. A small yellow bird was inches away from his face. How did anything survive this hell?

… _must've bombed his home…_

Never before in his life did he empathizes with a bird.

… _I bet that he wants to go home too…_

Darkness came over him.

Waking up was painful. The sensation was slow but when he got his bearings, everything hit him at once. There wasn't a part of him that wasn't without pain. His head felt like it was going to explode. The left side of his face was prickly and numb like it was made of static. It traveled from his hairline straight through his eyes and down to his molars. His eyes had suffered. His vision was blurry. Anything on the outside was blurry and out of focus. No matter how many times he blinked, it was never enough. It never got better. His arms weren't much better off. They were heavily bandaged and smelled of disinfectant. The smell was overwhelming. It made him want to gag. Bastion coughed and moaned. Everything hurt. Except, strangely enough, his legs.

 _Why aren't the drugs working on the rest of me?_

Bastion gave an experimental shift of his body. He felt completely off balance. He felt unsteady and strange. His eyes went down to his legs. Bastion let out a strangled cry.

His legs were gone. Bandaged nubs right where his knees were meant to be had taken his legs' place. Bastion forced his gauzed up fingers to touch the nubs. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. This had to be a horrible mistake! He couldn't be like this. Injuries like this happened to young pups who ran headfirst into battle and paid the price. He was careful. He was trained. He was a damn professional but Bastion couldn't deny what his near dead fingers felt.

His legs were gone.

Bastion shook with anger and shock. He wanted to cry but the pain that his eyes already suffered prevented him from wearing his heart on his sleeve. Bastion was left sitting in his medical cot with pristine white sheets completely paralyzed with grief and anger. He was stuck.

Anger flooded through him. Bastion wanted to jump out of his bed, legs be damned, and punch something. He wanted to break anything he could get his hands on. He opened his mouth. He was going to scream until his throat burned, until he couldn't scream anymore, until everyone in the whole damn world knew what he felt. He would wake the dead with his scream.

Silence.

Horrible, deafening silence. Bastion screamed again but was met with silence.

He couldn't use his hands.

He had no legs.

He had no voice.

 _Why am I even alive_ , Bastion thought, _what was the point of surviving_?

The dark green curtain separating the cots parted. A gorgeous woman with blonde hair and blue eyes came in. Her clothes, military fatigues, were covered in blood. She smiled and Bastion knew that he was going to die.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

There was something very wrong about that woman's smile. It was fake and as cold as ice. Bastion had seen that smile a couple of times before in battle. It came to a select few who enjoyed killing too much. People who had that smile were dangerous. They had something in their brains that when it came to ending a person's life, they kept it going for as long as they could. Whatever their method for killing, whether it be strangulation or a gun, they would let their victim breathe and live before dragging them back to the brink of death. The woman walked to him and her smile got bigger.

 _Oh god, oh shit!_

Bastion opened his mouth and futilely screamed. Was there anyone around? Did anyone know he was here?

 _Help! Oh god, someone help me! Help me please!_

The blood drenched woman with her demented smile came closer. She was right next to him. How was she going to kill him? Bare hands? He wasn't able to fight back.

"Hello." The smiling woman had an accent. Something northern. He wasn't really sure. "I am Doctor Ziegler." The name was familiar, definitely not on the enemy's side but he couldn't quite place it. "But you may know me as Mercy."

That was it! Now he knew her. Everyone knew of the famous physician that was Mercy. She was a godsend on the battlefield. Troops called her an angel. She once preformed a successful open heart surgery in the middle of a battle. Her medical skills were legendary.

 _But then_ , Bastion thought, _why am I like this?_

"You have questions, I'm sure."

Bastion nodded. He was prepared to attempt to speak again but if screaming didn't work then what would? Dr. Ziegler sat down on the side of his bed. She gave him a pen and paper. Mentally, he scoffed. He couldn't form a fist, how was he supposed to write? His fingers slowly grasped the pen. It was infuriating how his own body refused to work. It wasn't fair. He was in perfect health and then…boom! It was all gone. He could fire consecutive shots, precise and deadly, and now holding a pen, a stupid crappy pen, was a challenge. He could barely hold it. He wanted to scream again.

 **What happened?**

The words looked like they were written by a first grader. He took a minute to mourn his penmanship. He would never be able to write like before. He missed the way his W's were big and loopy and his t's were so neat and clean looking. This wasn't fair.

"We're not sure. You were found outside of the medical tent."

 **How?**

"We are also not sure. Your little friend led us to you."

 _Friend?_ He heard chirping. Above his bed and to his right was a small yellow bird.

"He wouldn't leave you alone. He kept breaking into the tent to see you. I hope you don't mind but it looks like he's yours now."

 **Legs.**

Your legs were badly…we had to amputate."

 **Couldn't save them?**

"There was nothing to save."

Bastion put his pen to paper but didn't know what to write next. He was stunned at it all.

"We worked for six weeks to keep you alive."

Six weeks clicked in his mind. The war! He had a war to win and then he could go home. Dr. Ziegler read his mind and said quickly, "The war is over. We won."

And just like that it was over.

 **What did miss?**

"Most of the troops have been sent home. The treaties are being signed tomorrow. We-"

 **Home.**

"Home?"

 **Want to go home.**

"In a few days maybe. We're-"

 **Now.**

Against every medical professional's advice, Bastion went home with his new pet bird. He was given an honorable discharge from the military, he received prosthetics for his legs and arms, and went back home. Everything was a struggle when he returned to his neighborhood in the Brooklyn. It was all those eyes staring at him, dissecting him, picking him apart. Those who were brave enough would ask him questions.

"How'd it happen?"

"Did you feel it?"

"Were you ambushed?"

"Did it hurt?"

"Why do you look like that?"

He hated the questions. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. And yet, in the papers everyday stories about the way, about the great feats that were done during the war. It brought back haunting memories of bleeding to death in that field of that kid throwing bombs. He couldn't and he wouldn't put himself back in that hell. Bastion stayed in his small apartment. He never went out. He stopped watching the news and reading the paper. He had his groceries delivered to him and had his mail slipped under his door.

He didn't have a life anymore.

Every morning, he would wake up and spend a majority of his day in his chair. His only comfort in his life was his bird, Ganymede. He liked Ganymede. Unlike others, Ganymede never asked intrusive questions or battered him about his prosthetics. Ganymede was simply there. For a while, life in his small apartment with Ganymede was good. But then winter came. New York winters were the worst. The cold seemed to bite into his bones. Life with his prosthetics was hard and made the simplest task feel like he was climbing Mount Everest but when it was that cold out, he stayed in bed just rotting away. Ganymede would flutter in and out, periodically checking up on him. He never strayed too far from his side. It was on a particularly bitterly cold morning that Bastion was grateful for Ganymede.

The cold had frozen him from the inside out. He was so cold. It ate at him. It didn't feel like he was home. To Bastion, he was back in that field – dying all over again. The bombs were exploding all around him. He could still hear people dying and that kid! He could hear that kid laughing like he just won a game so clearly in his skull that it was maddening. Bastion woke with a gasp; he was still in battle. He had to get out of here. Bastion fell out of his bed. He had to escape the bombings. Bastion dragging himself across the floor with his burned and scarred arms.

 _I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. I'm not going to die here. I'm not going to die. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home._

Ganymede saw Bastion from his cage. He flew out and chirped at him but nothing worked. Bastion was intent to escape his imaginary hell.

 _I have to get out of here. I'm not going to die here. I want to go home. Please, let me go home._

The bombs were so loud. The kid was cackling with laughter. People were dying all around him.

 _Let it be over! I want to go home!_

Ganymede screeched at Bastion. He pecked at him but Bastion was still in the field, trapped and dying. Bastion broke the glass balcony doors. The icy wind kept him stuck in the war. Bastion grappled at the metal. He was so close to escaping. He could finally go home. Ganymede pulled at his hair. He pecked at his scalp. Ganymede clawed at Bastion's face. Bastion lost his grip and fell back to the ground, safely on the balcony. Ganymede flew onto Bastion's chest and chirped sadly as though to say: sorry. Bastion came back. He gasped and sobbed. He had nearly thrown himself off his four story balcony.

This was no way to live.

The next day, Bastion closed his bank accounts, pooled all his money together, and told his landlord that he was moving out the next day. He couldn't live in New York anymore. His apartment wasn't home anymore. He bought a ticket, packed a week's worth of clothes, and grabbed Ganymede. It didn't matter where he went so long as it wasn't there. One ticket lead to another which led to a long wait in an airport lounge which turned into a stranger, another veteran of the Omnic Crisis, talking to him and telling him about his hometown in Texas. Ghost Town, Texas was apparently as the stranger told him, quiet, hot, and friendly.

Bastion settled on Ghost Town without a second thought.


	2. Legacy

Author's Note: Here is the second chapter. I hope that you enjoy it. Please leave a review to tell me how I am doing.

Childhood is filled to the brim with important scrapbook worthy milestones. From baby's first word, to their first steps, to learning how to ride a bike, and their first day of school, these precious moments were the stuff that childhood was made of but not if you were a Shimada.

At the tender age of two years old, Hanzo Shimada survived his very first assassination attempt.

Asleep in his bed, Hanzo was unaware of the assassin that crept into his room. His death was meant to settle a business dispute and reclaim honor from a disgruntled business partner of his father. The assassin retrieved the syringe filled with air that would cause an embolism in the toddler. The assassin never had a chance to use it. The armed guards of the Shimada Clan silently stormed the room and put a bullet hole in the assassin's head.

Hanzo slept on, never knowing that a man died in his bedroom.

When Hanzo was five, his father showed him how to fire a bow. His first attempts were sloppy but when he managed to shoot a servant in the thigh with a misguided arrow. His father was so proud of him that he bought his son a new bow with expertly made arrows. Hanzo's father claimed that his son showed the Shimada clan's strength. The servants wisely kept out of the way when young Hanzo practiced with his bow.

When Hanzo was eight, his parents brought him to a business meeting. There was a man tied up in a chair. He was bleeding and gasping for air. His parents very calmly explained to him that the man was a spy and he was sent to destroy their family. Rage burned in Hanzo. How dare this man, this lowly worm, try and hurt his family. His mother gave Hanzo his bow. His father asked his son to protect their family.

At age eight, Hanzo killed his first man.

His teenage years were shaped by the family business. As the oldest son, it was his birthright and duty to carry on the family name. He stayed by his father's side and learned the ropes: how to intimidate, how to break people, and expand the empire that was the Shimada Clan. His father, Ryuji, was quite the clever man. To expand the Shimada's global reach, he chose to go into the hotel business. He picked remote places, places that were safe from the arm of the law and had no extradition treaties. The Shimada business took over small villages and in the blink of an eye, warped them into sprawling cities of excessive living. The cities that the Shimada Clan controlled became playgrounds for the wealthy and powerful.

As Hanzo's father entered his golden years, he set his sights on moving the operation towards America. It was to be his crowning achievement. The Shimada Clan dominated the east, it was time to move to the west. Or they would have, had Ryuji not been found dead in his office. He was slumped over with the plans of the American expansion held tight in his hands. At first, assassination was thought to be the cause but his death was more mundane. No assassination, but a run of the mill heart attack. Ryuji Shimada had worked himself to death. Overcome with grief, the clan matriarch, Hime, soon followed her husband to the grave. Within a month, Hanzo and Genji Shimada were all that was left of the Shimada Clan.

To the enemies of the Shimada Clan, blood was in the water. Grief made people weak. Hanzo could not mourn his parents, he had to carry on the Shimada name. Less than a week after his parents were in the ground, Hanzo formally took over as head of the Shimada Clan. On the day he became the leader of his family, Hanzo took a solemn vow. He would never allow his family to suffer, to be hurt, and he would carry on his family's name.

The preparations for the western move were done immediately.

In the outskirts of Ghost Town, Texas was a beautiful contemporary house. It's very existence was out of place with the surrounding desert. The wood, brick, and stone siding didn't belong there, the irregular floor to ceiling glass windows didn't have a place, it's high and steeped roof was too strange for the desert. The house as a whole was a sore thumb that interrupted the natural beauty of the desert. It stood proudly against the winds and harsh heat as though to say "You are nothing. You will be tamed".

Hanzo Shimada viewed the landscape from the comfort of the living room. Hands folded neatly behind his back, the oldest Shimada viewed the expansive landscape. A tumbleweed bounced by. Hanzo scoffed.

"My father chose this town as the site for our Western expansion?"

The places they scouted, took over, and built new cities from the ground up had some sort of niche that was marketable. How could he sell a desert?

 _Maybe as a graveyard_ , he thought. _Spacious_. _Buy one acre for three thousand dollars, dig twenty feet deep, and bury up to ten bodies. Taxes apply for exceeding body limits._

"Yes, sir." Answered Satya Vaswani, his personal assistant.

Satya Vaswani was a new transplant from the Shimada Clan's India operations. She was smart, with an impeccable eye for detail and order. A gorgeous, if not cold, woman with dark brown eyes, straight black hair, and pouty lips that were pulled into a constant frown of disapproval.

"From what I could gather from your father's notes, sir, he planned to create Ghost Town in the image of Las Vegas."

Maybe his father could see it but Hanzo did not. It was a wasteland.

 _The graveyard plan looks better by the minute._

"I see."

"We have a meeting with the board of directors nine months from now. They expect your answer on moving forward with the operation by then. I have compiled a list of residences in alphabetical order, business in order of year established as well as yearly earnings and current debts. The reports are on your desk. Do you require anything more, sir?"

"Nothing more, except where is my brother?"

Satya brought up the security system. The first place she checked was the garage. "The Ferrari is missing, sir. I have access to the GPS. It shows that he is currently in the downtown area. Would you like me to send him a message about the meeting?"

"If my brother does not wish to involve himself with my family then it is on his head."

"Yes, sir."

If Hanzo Shimada was the backbone of the clan, then Genji Shimada was the trick knee.

Driving downtown at an obscene speed, the thirty-five year heir to a criminal enterprise laughed wildly. Dressed in ripped up jeans and a white t-shirt with a boob window, Genji gleefully shouted, "Yippie ki-yay motherfuckers!"

Texas! He was in Texas! Could there be anything more cowboy than Texas? He had to get a ten gallon hat, boots – snakeskin boots for sure, and what else?

 _Chaps!_ Genji thought excitedly, _Black chaps! No, wait –_ _black assless chaps._

Hanzo would flip when he saunter back into the house with that get up. It would annoy him more than when he first came home with his hair dyed green. That settled it, he was buying them as soon as he found them. Genji got out his cell phone, taking his eyes off the road.

"Siri, find me assless chaps."

Siri did not respond. Genji looked down at his phone. No service. Not even a bar. Genji moaned.

"Come on, I always have service!"

Genji just barely stopped at the red light. He revved his motor in frustration. He liked the western aspect of this place but without cell service, he wasn't going to survive here. Genji waited at the red light. It was still red. Genji moaned even louder.

"Change! Now!"

The light was still red. Genji banged his head against the steering wheel. He never came to the towns that his father picked out until things were already in progress. It was his job to pick out the girls and guys that worked in the casinos and shops. They always had to be beautiful. Ugly wasn't part of his image. But looking around this dinky little town, Genji saw that there was not a single beautiful person to be found.

 _Oh Kami, is there anyone hot around here?_

He scanned the streets for a sign of someone with even a drop of natural beauty. There were none.

 _This place is a total snooze-fest. Who am I supposed to do around here? Little old bag ladies? Gross._

To say that Genji was a playboy would be an understatement. His method of operation? Find the hottest person in town, wine and dine, and before they had dessert, have them in bed. He moved hard, he moved fast, and he was always successful. There had yet to be a person who could resist Genji Shimada. The light was still red. Genji searched for anyone who met his standard. He would hate to have his streak broken.

But then he saw _him_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Genji saw a yoga studio adjacent to a gym. It had a large front window to show off the class's workout. The man was truly a diamond in the rough. Dark sun kissed skin, a great ass, and he was shirtless with a six pack. He was a dream.

 _That's the one._

The light turned green. Genji flipped his sunglasses down. A smug smile was on his face as he drove off.

 _I'll have him screaming my name soon enough._


	3. It's High Noon

Author's Note: IT'S HIGH NOON! Say hello to Ghost Town's Sheriff.

Genji swaggered victoriously through the front door of his and Hanzo's temporary residence. This was a fantastic way to start off his family's latest venture. However, there was a problem. How would he properly seduce the yoga instructor? There were many ways to go about this but for his first lay in America, he wanted it to be special. In this hick town Genji doubted that anyone knew of the wealth and power that his family held. That meant that the yoga instructor wouldn't just melt when he saw that glory that was Genji Shimada.

The yoga instructor wasn't some floozy or piece of eye candy (Well he was certainly nice to look at – especially when he was bending down). No, this would be harder. That was fine with Genji. He wouldn't want it to be too easy. His mind was already at work with various plans. He could always go for the classic "Sign up for Class" move and get naughty with teacher. Genji shook his head. It was too clichéd. Go for the "Tourist in need of a guide"? No, no, no…he was a Shimada, he could do better than this. He would have to if he was going to get what's-his-face in his bed.

 _I wonder what his name is?_

He only got a glance at the instructor's lovelier assets. He didn't even bother to find out what his name was. Genji shrugged. He never bothered with names. They didn't really matter so long as it was his name that the man was screaming anyway. The hottest man in town would have to be known as The Yoga Instructor. Genji liked it. It was simple and to the point.

He had a plan in mind for the yoga instructor; after introduction, a little poetry something by Siddhartha Gautama, a great dinner and then wham, bam, thank you mam. It would mark the first of many great sexual escapades. Genji sighed happily. The Yoga Instructor would be his.

"Shimada, sir." The strict voice of Satya Vaswani jolted him from his thoughts of his future conquest.

"What is it Satie?"

She scowled at the annoying nickname. "You missed the orientation meeting, sir." Was it his imagination or did she actually appear to look angry?

"Oops. It slipped my mind." He said flippantly. Satya was not appeased. "I was out scouting this dump. And trust me when I say this but there's nothing out there."

 _Nothing except for the Yoga Instructor._

"We might as well be on another planet, Satie."

Her frowned deepened. Ah, that was never a good sign. Satya was going to go into lecture. She would go on and on and on and then Hanzo would hear her and then he would lay in on him. Unlike Satya, Hanzo's lectures weren't so much "lecturing" as it was shouting at the tops of his lungs about how he, Genji, was a disgrace to the Shimada family name, that he was a constant disappointment, that he was a leech on his life, etc.

Then Hanzo would get his bow…

That set off alarm bells for Genji. Hanzo and his bow. Oh, if there was ever a combination to be avoided it was Hanzo with his bow. There wasn't anywhere to hide and Satya would insist that he fire his bow outside where there was less cover….

It was panic mode now.

Hanzo was a crack shot. He never missed, well except in the rare moments when Genji had his sword. Genji could deflect just about anything that came his way with his trusty sword. But he didn't have it with him so Hanzo would pretty much kill him.

"How much do I have to pay you not involve Hanzo right this second?"

"Ms. Vaswani? Is that my brother I hear?"

"Fuck."

Hanzo descended the stairs looking grim as ever. "Genji."

"Bro."

Hanzo gritted his teeth. "You missed the orientation meeting."

Genji didn't know what was more unbearable; the eventual arrows Hanzo would be firing at him or the smug smirk that Satya was sporting. They were both horrible.

"Whoops-a-daisy."

"Do you have any respect for my family?"

"Our family, genius. I'm a Shimada too." He stuck his tongue out.

"Then why don't you act like it?"

"By having a rod deep in my ass? No thanks."

That was enough to set Hanzo off. He turned to Satya and said, "Ms. Vaswani, my bow."

Genji prepared to run. He couldn't deflect Hanzo's arrows, running was the next best option.

"Your bow and arrows are in Japan, sir." Satya dutifully answered.

"What?" Hanzo squawked, mortified at the mere idea of not having his bow by his side. Genji breathed a sigh of relief. No arrows in his ass today.

"I compiled a list of items to be shipped to America, sir. On this list included family treasures such as your mother's hair clips, your father's pen collection-"

"My sword." Genji interrupted.

"-your brother's sword, and your bow. You signed on having the family treasures arrive at a later date, sir." She brought up the list. At the bottom was Hanzo's signature.

"Ooh, burn. She got you good bro." Genji laughed.

Hanzo shoved his brother aside and stormed out the door.

"Sir? Where are you going?"

"I am taking the car out for a drive. Do not disturb me!"

"I left you a quarter tank of gas!" Genji shouted after him. He laughed when Hanzo was gone.

Today wasn't such a bad day after all. He had found a hot guy to bang, Hanzo didn't have his bow, and Hanzo was out of the house. Life was good.

In the red Ferrari, Hanzo gripped the steering wheel as he sped off in the opposite direction of the house. He didn't have the faintest idea where he was going, that was what GPS was for, but as long as he got away from the inane foolishness that was his brother, he was fine. Just thinking about Genji boiled his blood. Hanzo pressed his foot against the accelerator. How could his brother act so foolishly? How could his brother take his family's good name and drag it through the mud? Their enemies were too happy to do it themselves so why did Genji feel the dying need to contribute?

Genji's foolishness would destroy their family.

Hanzo sped even faster across the desert landscape. He was on a highway now. Thoughts everything that his family had worked for, the empires they had built, the power they had gained – all gone! The scenery blew past him. Thoughts of his family in ruin consumed him. Everything was gone. _Everything_.

Sirens earned his ire. Of all the times for the police to pull him over it had to be now. Hanzo unwillingly pulled over. He wondered if it was too early to start bribing the police? Hanzo opened his wallet. Three hundred dollars in cash should suffice to get his way out of a speeding ticket. Hanzo gazed into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of cop who pulled him over. He didn't see the officer but he didn't believe what he saw; behind him was a horse with a flashing red and blue light on its head.

 _What in the name of Kami?_

Could the town not afford a police vehicle? Was he stuck in a time warp? What kind of town was this place? A knock at his window made Hanzo jumped. He was sure that he was stuck in a time warp now. The officer was not an ordinary officer. He was the most beautiful person that Hanzo had ever seen.

Beauty was nothing when you were a Shimada. Flawless beautiful people swarmed to the Shimada family like bugs to the light. Beautiful people threw themselves at you on a daily basis. Beauty was typical, expected, and after a while, down right dull. But not the man who pulled him over. He was something else entirely.

He was different.

The man was gorgeous. Simply, absolutely, drop dead gorgeous. He was well built, dark brown hair that refused to stay in one place, muscular hairy arms, and a goatee that made him look downright animalistic with those sharp canines he was sporting. He didn't dress like a police officer but he had a gold star badge hidden under his dark red serape. The officer steadily puffed on a cigar.

"Sir, do you know how fast you were going?"

Hanzo was left speechless. His words tumbled over themselves in his throat and when they reached his mouth, the only thing Hanzo could say was, "So pretty…"

"Excuse me, sir?"

Hanzo blushed and caught onto his mistake. "So, pretty fast?" It wasn't his smoothest save but the officer seemed to buy it.

The officer crossed his arms. A playful smirk flashed across his face. Hanzo felt his heart race. "You're not from around here, are you partner?"

"N-No." Did he just stutter? He didn't just stutter. He was Hanzo Shimada. He didn't not stutter. "No." He said more confidently. "I am from Japan. This is my first day in America."

"Hmm. License and registration, please, sir."

"O-Oh, yes…" Hanzo quickly opened the glovebox. He passed the necessary documents over to the officer. Hs hand brushed against the officer's gloved one. He yearned to touch and feel him. The man looked warm, comfortably wonderfully warm. Hanzo imagined briefly what it must be like to receive a hug from him or a kiss. On the idea of kissing the officer, Hanzo stopped himself cold. Becoming entangled with law enforcement was never a good idea. It usually ended with death and it was always on the law's side. But it was nice to dream. Fantasizing wouldn't hurt anyone least of all him.

The office took the documents and went back to his horse. Hanzo slid down on the expensive Italian leather. He could have this moment – this beautiful wonderful moment to think of the officer.

 _How did he end up here?_

Hanzo bit his lower lip trying to keep focus. Law enforcement was law enforcement and that was bad. This wasn't a business transaction. This was lust. But if Genji could lust after anyone he set his eyes on, then why couldn't he? He was allowed to look. It wouldn't hurt him to look even if it was from a distance.

The officer appeared. Taking a chance and giving a damn if he sound improper or not, Hanzo asked, "Name?"

The officer swished his cigar to the left side of his mouth, keeping his grin. "Sheriff McCree."

"You are lawman, yes?"

"Yes." He laughed lightly and Hanzo got chills. What a wonderful laugh he had. If only he could make the sheriff laugh again but then Sheriff McCree was all business, "Sir, we have received reports of a man matching your physical description and car speeding through town, shouting obscenities. Would you care to explain that to me?"

 _Genji…_

"That was my brother." Hanzo said instantly.

"Your brother?"

It sounded fake even to Hanzo. "Yes, my brother. We have just moved to your lovely town. He likes to take my car, I am sorry for my brother's foolishness."

Sheriff McCree was thinking Hanzo could it plainly. "Brother, huh?"

"Yes." Hanzo squeaked.

Sheriff McCree took pity on him. "Since you're new and all, I'll let you off with a warning."

 _No officer, arrest me and throw away the key._

"Thank you, Sheriff."

"Ain't nothing, partner."

Sheriff McCree sauntered back to his horse. His hips swayed just a bit. Hanzo waited until Sheriff McCree was back in the saddle. The horse reared and Sheriff McCree took off. Hanzo was on cloud nine as he drove away.

Or he was until the Ferrari ran out of gas.

 _Damn it Genji._


	4. Penguins

Author's Note: Who wants to see Mei and Zarya? Show of hands!

Her pulse was racing. Her mind was spinning as she ran. Her vision was blurry. She couldn't run fast enough. Her legs couldn't keep up with the mad pace but they had to. She had to keep running. Stopping wasn't an option. She ran faster and faster until finally the inevitable happened.

She tripped.

Mei-Ling Zhou went falling face first onto the treadmill. She smacked her chin onto the unforgiving tread. She was thrown back against the wall. The air was knocked out of her. Mei gasped for air, her lungs on fire, as she silently prayed that no one had seen her spectacular fall.

"Do you require assistance, Ms. Zhou?"

Her brown eyes met blue ones. Tekhartha Zenyatta stood beside her with a bottle of water in one hand and a cold compress in the other.

Mei rubbed the back of her head. "No…"

Zenyatta sat down beside her and gave her the cold compress anyway. Mei pressed it to her aching chin.

"Did anyone…" She started off to say.

"As far as anyone is concerned, we are two friends chatting." He smiled at her and leaned back against the wall. There weren't many people left in the gym.

She swallowed the water greedily. "Huh." Mei tried to slow her breathing down. Her heart was still racing. "Thank you for the ice pack and water."

"You are welcome."

"How did you get it here so fast?"

"You were running very hard on the treadmill. I was going to ask you to slow down and take a break when I saw you fell."

Mei scoffed. "Perfect."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to intrude but you have never pushed yourself so hard before."

Mei had always been a regular at the gym. She had met Zenyatta as her yoga instructor months ago. She attended classes religiously but stopped when she wasn't getting the results she wanted. Her rolls were ever present. Her arms still jiggled whenever she walked. Mei couldn't even think about the way her thighs rubbed together without feeling a little disgusted.

"I want to be skinny." Mei said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Zenyatta was quiet. Mei shook her head. "You don't understand."

"I do not see the reason into working yourself into exhaustion."

"I'm not." She rebutted. "I tripped."

Zenyatta shot her a look. For a refugee monk from Nepal who came to live in Ghost Town only a year ago with zero experience in the outside world, Zenyatta did have a way with withering looks.

"I did trip." She said sheepishly.

"Why do you not come back to yoga? You are excellent. You know all the techniques. You could easily teach the class yourself."

"Yoga won't get me skinny." She huffed, getting up.

"Where are you going?"

"Hitting the showers."

She felt bad for blowing Zenyatta off like that. He was a nice guy, probably the nicest guy in town. He let her use the gym in the early mornings before work and late at night when no one else was there. He understood that she hated to work out in front of other people but she hated it when he got all…well Zenyatta. Was he right? Yes. But would yoga get her the body she wanted? No.

End of discussion.

Mei rushed to the locker room, desperate for a shower. She went to her locker, grabbing her shampoo and body wash. Normally, she would have showered at home after such a rigorous work out. However, her body demanded care and attention. She needed a shower. And besides, there wasn't anyone else in the locker room. It would be safe for her to change without prying eyes.

She avoided every single mirror in the place. She didn't like to look at her body. Undressing quickly, years of high school hell had trained her well, Mei escaped into the showers. The water wasn't as hot as she would have liked, it was lukewarm at best, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

She heard the locker room door opened. Mei froze. There shouldn't be anyone else in the gym except for Zenyatta and he would never come into the women's room. He wasn't that sort of guy. Mei peeked behind the curtain.

 _She_ was here.

Hair as pink as bubblegum and as soft as a cloud. Zarya was the owner of the "Tough Love" gym. She was built like an Amazonian Goddess with a star like scar above her right eye. Over six feet tall, Zarya reminded Mei of a renaissance statue. The way she looked, the way her body was the epitome of beauty - Zarya was a work of art.

Mei waited until Zarya was on the other side of the locker room before she left the showers. She held her breath until it was safe. Mei dried herself off in the shows and when she could no longer her Zarya's footsteps, she made a beeline for her clothes. But just when she thought she was safe, Zarya came back.

Standing in the locker room with only a scratchy towel to cover her, Mei felt incredibly vulnerable. Zarya though? She strutted proudly. She was unafraid to show off her perfect body. Mei sucked in her stomach as Zarya passed her. She didn't mean to but when she was around someone like Zarya, someone who never had an ounce of fat on them, it was second nature. Zarya stepped into the closed shower. Before the water was even turned on, she began to sing.

Mei thought that Zarya had the most beautiful voice.

The echo in the locker room made Zarya sound like a rock star. "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" had never sounded so good. Mei spent a few precious moments listening to Zarya sing and even mouthed along with her. She couldn't stay long to enjoy Zarya's song, she had to go home. She got dressed and began to leave.

"See you tomorrow, penguin." Zarya stopped her serenade to say.

There was no one else in the locker room, Mei realized. Zarya was talking to her. She knew that she existed. But what a weird name to call some-

Waddle.

Penguins waddled.

Oh. Oh, no. Mei to her credit, did not cry on the spot. She got dressed and sniffled only a little as she put on her parka. It was her protection against all too familiar name calling and scathing, judging looks whenever she ate. With her parka on, she was safe. Nothing could hurt her.

Except for Zarya's name calling. That sting would carry with her for a while.

Mei left the locker room. She kept herself together as she left the gym, walked to her apartment, said hello to Mr. Bastion, collected her mail, and went inside her apartment on the third floor. Once the door was closed, Mei promptly cried. She slid down to the floor and sobbed her heart out.

It was quiet crying. Mei cried herself to the point where even if she wanted to, she couldn't stop. She was far too upset to stop. Having your crush reject you was one thing but to make fun of her? To call her names? It was too much. Mei cried herself into exhaustion.

Her body aching and her mind writhing with a headache, Mei curled up on her couch. She grabbed the fluffiest and warmest blanket she could get her hands on and wrapped herself up. Mei turned on the television, praying the mindless noise might have something intellectually stimulating to get her mind of Zarya.

"Want to lose weight and fast?" A far too peppy spokesperson said as they gritted their pearly white teeth. "Try the new and improved Slim Pill. Tested by an independent lab, the Slim Pill has been scientifically proved to help you lose weight."

Click. Mei changed the channel instantly.

"Trying to lose those unsightly pounds?"

Click.

"This new diet lets you eat whatever you want, whenever you want, without changing a single thing about your lifestyle."

Frustrated, Mei shut off the television all together. The whole world seemed to be against her.

Author's Note: Hey guys, I've been having problems uploading chapter recently. It's not the site's fault but my own crappy internet access. That being said, I've set up a Tumblr here and a Twitter here account. Follow me on these sites so you can have access to more Overwatch goodness and teasers to the next chapter every Friday as well as story updates. Again, I'm so sorry about the late updates. I will try to keep updating every Tuesday before 9 a.m. central time zone.


	5. Speedy's

Author's Note: I am so sorry about this late update guys. To avoid or at least know about when this sort of thing happens, follow me on tumblr, Morganknightos, and twitter, morganknightos, to receive updates, sneak peeks into the next chapter every Friday, and more Overwatch goodness.

In Ghost Town, if you wanted a good pizza, you went to Geraldo's. If you wanted to a good taco, you went to Dos Gringos Loco. If you wanted the best nachos, you went to Hot Tamale food truck. These were facts of life but if you wanted the best burgers and fries you had ever tasted, then you ordered from Speedy's. It was unequivocally the best burger joint in town and possibly the world. It was also the only fast food place opened at three in the morning.

Sitting alone in his lab, Dr. Winston nervously paced about and tried to breathe. He was a highly intelligent man, with more . and awards than he had room for. He was celebrated in his field, he had a brilliant mind, and when push came to shove, there was nothing that he couldn't build or think up. Dr. Winston was a genius….except that when it came to certain things like say, ordering take out.

Social anxiety was a bitch.

It turned normal everyday interaction into a battle of social prowess. Talking one-on-one to someone was like climbing Mt. Everest and groups? All those eyes on him, judging him, made him scared out of his wits. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Winston tried to breathe. That's what this simple task reduced him to – just trying to breathe. He could never get enough air. He felt like he was always suffocating. He looked longingly at his mini fridge under a hefty stack of papers. He kept it stocked until now. It was empty. He had forgotten to go shopping. He had to order out. He couldn't continue his research without eating something. The tiny cell phone in his hand felt like a bomb.

 _Hello, I'd like to place an order. Hello, I would like to place a to go order,_ He rehearsed in his mind. 

Yes, that was it. That sounded marvelous. That sounded like someone who wasn't on the verge of having a panic attack over ordering take-out. Winston took a shaky breath. He dialed before he could back out again.

One ring.

What if he dialed the wrong number?

Two rings.

Maybe they were closed.

Three rings

Maybe they wouldn't answer.

He was so close to hanging up when a chipper voice answered, "Hi! Welcome to Speedy's! How may I help you?"

He didn't know what to say. "H-Hello."

"Hi!" The voice answered.

"Um…I-I would like to place an order, please?"

"Alrighty, what would you like?"

"Uh…um…" He had forgotten. He knew what he wanted to order but he had forgotten. His mind was a total blank. "I don't…I can't…"

"I could recommend some things to you, if you'd like. What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't really know." He wanted to die. A bit dramatic? Not at all. He was blundering. The voice on the other end of the line probably thought that he was an idiot. Who couldn't remember their order when ordering out?

"Do you like bacon?" The voice asked.

"Um yes?"

"We've got a great bacon cheese burger. It's my favorite! And the fries are pretty yummy too."

"Okay, I-I guess that I'll take one of those…"

"Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

"Do you like soda?"

"No, I-I like water." He liked this voice. It was friendly. It was kind. It was understanding. Why couldn't there be more voices like this in the world? "What about you?" Winston asked, feeling brave. "Do you like soda?"

"Yep! I'm a caffeine girl all the way." She laughed. "Your order will be ready in a few minutes."

"Thank you." Winston hung up the phone feeling better than he ever had. It had been a harrowing experience but he had gotten through it okay. He-Winston gasped. He had forgotten to give the voice his address. "NO!" He had forgotten to give his name. How had he managed to mess up on such a simple thing?

Winston paced in his lab. He couldn't pick up the phone again, not after that spectacular failure. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. He couldn't believe himself somedays. In his mind, he knew that this was a basic action. People did it everyday without a second thought. Why couldn't he be like them? Why was everything a trial? The doorbell rang. Winston jumped.

Someone was at his door.

Winston froze on the spot. He couldn't move. Fear had paralyzed him.

"Hello?" The voice on the other side of the door called out. "Hello~"

It was the voice from Speedy's.

"Hello? Anybody in there?"

Winston inched towards the door. He checked out the security monitor. A small, thin woman was at his door with a fast food baggy in her hands. She was wearing a red and yellow outfit under a hoodie. She saw the camera and smiled and waved. "Hi there!"

Winston nervously pressed on the intercom button. "Hello."

"Oh good, you're home. I thought this was a prank call." She laughed. "I've got your order."

"H-How did you find me?"

"Caller I.D." She grinned. "A delivery girl's best friend."

"Oh. How much is it?"

"12.50."

"Sure yeah." He slipped the money under the door with a ten dollar tip. It was the least he could do after his failure.

"Thanks for the tip! But I'll need a signature."

"Really?"

"Yeah, otherwise, my pay gets docked."

He didn't want that to happen.

Standing outside, waiting for the door to open, Lena took a moment to appreciate the stars. This was why she took the nightshift. She loved looking at the stars. Back home, she never got a chance to see them. There was too much light pollution. This was her favorite time. She found the Big Dipper and was about to look for the little dipper as well when the door opened. She peeked through the darkness. "Come out, I'm not scared." Papers rustled inside. Heavy footsteps followed. A man with wild black curly hair came out of the darkened lab. He fiddled with his glasses.

"H-Hello. I'm-"

"Wow!" Lena said, "You're tall!" The man towered over her.

"Uh thanks?"

She gave him the receipt and rocked back and forth on her heels as he signed. "Thank you…" She squinted to read his handwriting. "…Dr. Winston?"

"Yes."

"Cool! You must be really smart."

"Thank you." He was never good with praise. All those awards on his shelf? He was never present for them. They were mailed to his lab. "You got here really fast. What kind of car do you drive?"

"I ran."

"What?"

"I ran here."

"The restaurant is like three miles away."

"I'm pretty fast." She said proudly as she showed off her running shoes.

"Wow."

"Do you run?"

"No…I-I don't get out often."

Lena frowned. Winston wondered if he had overshared. Lena signed off on the receipt and gave him his copy. "I'll see you around, doc." Putting her hoodie up, Lena ran off into the darkness. Winston watched her until she disappeared. He retreated into the lab, toying with the receipt in his hands. He stopped when he saw what she wrote under her signature.

You don't know this but we're going to be bestie =D

She wanted to be his friend? Winston laughed. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy.

Author's Note: Leave a review to tell me how I'm doing!


	6. Memories

Author's Note: Enjoy a happy, fluffy chapter where nothing bad happens.

Gabriel Reyes had a handful of happy memories.

That is to say that he wasn't a particularly unpleasant or unhappy person but he had a handful of memories that could leave him grinning like a fool for the rest of the day. The first memory was when he joined Overwatch. He had worked his butt off to join the elite organization and they had deemed him worthy enough to join. When he got his acceptance letter in the mail, Gabe cried on the spot.

The second memory was the day he met Jack Morrison. Anybody who had a brain knew of the legendary Jack Morrison. He was a new recruit too just like Gabe but Jack had broken all of the training and intelligence records when he applied. He was Overwatch's Golden Boy. Blonde hair with baby blue eyes and a killer physique, Jack Morrison was the spitting image of Captain America. It was only until Gabe became his bunk mate that he realized how much like the comic-book hero Jack really was. Jack was idealistic. He thought that everything could be solved with a stern handshake and clever words. It stumped Gabe as to why Jack would join a military organization.

"I want to do some good." Jack said with a dazzling smile.

"Yeah but Overwatch?"

"We step in when no one else will. We go into the hard places. I think it's pretty admirable to do that."

"What if you had to kill someone? Nothing admirable about blowing a man's brains out."

Jack's dazzling smile disappeared. Gabe pouted. He hadn't meant for that to happen. He liked it when Jack smiled.

"I don't want to kill anyone but if it comes to it…then I guess I gotta do it."

Gabe had pinned Jack for the soft hearted type. He wondered though, if it came down to it, would Jack be able to kill? A few months later, Gabe was proven right. They were on the field. It was their first mission. They were ambushed. The team was split up. Gabe was in the trench. The only thing on his mind was Jack.

Where was Jack? He didn't see him anywhere. Gabe stayed hidden in the trench, his gun close to his chest. He had to find Jack. They had to get out of here. He peeked at his surroundings, trying to get a sense of where he was. That's when he saw Jack. He was alive but he wasn't safe. There was a man pointing a gun at Jack's head. Time slowed down for Gabe. He saw the man squeeze the trigger and then faster than Gabe knew what he was doing, he had his own gun pointed at the man threatening Jack.

The gun went off and the man was dead. Gabe rushed onto the field and grabbed Jack. They got the hell out of there.

"I-I froze." Jack blurted out, tears in his eyes. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry, man. I got your back."

And Gabe did. After that, Jack and Gabe were inseparable. They were a duo. You couldn't see one without the other. From their friendship, love bloomed. It came no surprise to anyone when Jack and Gabe got married. This was Gabe's third happy memory. It was a small wedding with only their nearest and dearest friends. There were tears, lots of tears, from the both of them. To this day, Gabe swears that Jack cried the loudest.

The fourth memory was a long time coming. Gabriel Reyes had always wanted children. He came from a big family and thought it was only right to have a household full of kids. Jack was an only child and at the idea of having children, he balked.

"What if the kid doesn't like us?" Jack asked as the poured over the dozens of photos of potential children for them to adopt.

"You're crazy. The kid will love us. Who wouldn't?" Gabe was offended at the idea that someone not loving them. "We're adorable!"

"What if the kid doesn't like me?"

"Jack…"

"No, I'm serious. What if he or she sees my scar and gets scared?" During the war, Jack had been wounded. A long jagged scar cut across his face. It was a source of constant worry and social anxiety. Jack often wore large obscuring sun glasses to hide the scar. "This-" he pointed to his wound "-doesn't exactly put people at ease."

"Don't worry, man. I got your back."

A few months later they adopted eight year old Jesse McCree. It was a surprise adoption. The case worker had actively warned them against adopting Jesse.

"He gets into fights all the time." The case worker said in a hushed whisper. "He's a problem child. He's been bounced around from home to home. This is his third residence this month. He'll cause too much trouble here and then he'll be moved to a new place." The case worker then said with a sigh of relief. "Then he'll become someone else's problem."

Gabe should have been given a medal for not chewing the case worker out. He stayed cool and calm. With Jack, they fought through the red tape and signed all the right papers and adopted Jesse. Tears were once again shed and Gabe still swore that Jack cried the loudest.

The fifth memory was just as happy as the fourth but it had a rockier start.

Parenting Jesse was a trial. The kid had more issues than most but with the right kind of attention, positive reinforcement, and love, Jesse turned out alright. He still had a penchant for fighting and if you said one negative thing about his Papi and Pops, he would remember it forever but he had come so far from the angry self-destructive kid that he once was.

Overall, life was good.

But then came the hurricane. Devastation ruled in South America. Gabe remembered how Jesse ran to his bedroom talking about people being blown away. They rushed to the television set and watched the destruction. The ferocity of the storm had them hypnotized. They watched from the safety of their living room, far away from the storm, and bared witness as lives were destroyed.

The hurricane was the topic of news for months. People were in need of aid. There was a deficit was fresh drinking water, shelter, food. Gabe returned home to find Jesse, now sixteen years old, sitting in front of the television.

"Papi, it's bad out there."

"I know."

"Isn't anyone gonna help them?"

Gabe joined his son. "Help's on the way."

Jesse scoffed. "They're not going fast enough."

It was at this that Gabe had to admit Jesse had a point. Things were going kind of slow in the face of a natural disaster. The news showed different clips of the devastation. There was one clip that haunted Gabe. It was of a kid who couldn't be any older than five years old. He was standing bare foot, holding a dirty plushie of a frog, and he was crying for his parents.

It broke Gabe's heart. Gabe went to bed that night unable to get the image of that kid out of his head.

"Something up?" Jack asked as he cuddled next to him.

Gabe sighed. "I want another kid."

"What?"

"There was this kid. I can't…"

Jack took a deep breath. "Okay."

"What? Y-You're sure?"

"Don't worry, man. I've got your back."

It was settled. They were going to help. The child's name turned out to be Lucio Correia dos Santos. He was six and an orphan. Originally, the plan was to temporarily adopt Lucio until a replacement family could be found for him. When Lucio came to them, Gabe swore that he would stay a month, maybe two.

That was ten years ago.

Lucio was officially adopted into the Reyes-Morrison household when he was seven. Gabe reflected on his happy memories, those five particular memories and smiled.

Life was good.

Author's Note: Please leave a comment and follow me on Twitter (here) and Tumblr (here) to get receive updates on stories and to see more Overwatch goodness.


	7. Part Time Parents

Author's Note: I just want to write fluff all day long. I hope everyone had a safe and happy Halloween.

The sounds of bombs falling filled her ears. They were catching up to her but she was faster. She was fast. She was smart. She was the best.

She was Hana.

There was no one in the world who could match her tactical brilliance, her steady hands, her keen eye for detail, or-

"BOOM! HEADSHOT!" Shouted Hana's grandmother, Ana. She raised the controller and laughed wildly.

"Aw! Gram-Gram! I was winning!" Hana slumped over the side of the couch in defeat.

"Sorry sweetie. Now watch Gram-Gram wreck these newbs." Her grandmother took full control of the videogame now and proceeded to break Hana's high score.

"Betrayed by my own grandmother." Hana sighed. "This will make for great therapy."

In retrospect, showing her ex-military sniper grandmother the latest Sniper: HeadHunt game was a terrible idea. Ana's skills surprisingly transferred over well despite having one eye.

"Sniper on your left." Hana supported.

Ana expertly maneuvered around and shot the sniper through his own scope. "Not anymore."

Hana relaxed and watched as her grandmother dominated Sniper: HeadHunt. She tapped her feet against his grandmother's side, hoping to distract her. It did nothing. When Ana was in the zone, nothing could break her concentration. The noises of people dying got louder and louder. Ana was merciless. She took every player down, not even those camping could get to her.

"Was it like this?"

"What sweetie? I can't hear you over the sound of me winning."

Hana rolled her eyes. She deserved that jab. "You know, the war? Was it like this?"

"You remember the war, don't you?"

Hana shook her head. "I don't remember much."

For that Ana was grateful. The war had been hard on everyone. No one got out unscathed.

"Was it like this?" She asked again.

Ana slowed down but not enough for anyone to get her. Her character rested in the safehouse. "A little. This is more like the wild west. When it comes to sniping, you stay crouched and hidden. You are a ghost. None of this rooty tooty point n' shooty business. As a sniper, you are the support of your team. You defend your team from the shadows. It was a role that I was honored to play."

"And Pa-Pa?"

Ana smiled. "Your grandfather was and is a knight in shining armor. He would come swinging in with his hammer. Never one for the quiet."

"So he's always been that loud?" Even in the basement conventered into a play room, Hana could hear her Pa-Pa talking to one of her parents.

"Ever since I met him, yes." Ana smiled warmly. "But I would not have him any other way."

Ana's character was shot in the safe house. "OH!" Ana's one good eye narrowed in anger. "I must avenge the fallen."

"Go get 'em Gram-Gram." Hana stretched and flipped over the couch. "I'm going to see how long until dinner."

"Okay sweetie!" Ana went back to slaughtering the competition.

Hana hopped up the steps, taking it two at a time. She swung open the dark green door to the kitchen. She was greeted at once by the smell of chicken and garlic mashed potatoes. Her Pa-Pa, Reinhardt, saw his only granddaughter and swept her up in a hug.

"How is my little princess?"

Her grandfather was a giant of a man. He was the tallest person in any room and with his wild white hair, he gave the striking appearance of a lion.

"I'm good. Gram-Gram beat my high score." She dutifully reported.

Her Pa-Pa's face cracked into a wide grin. "Ha-HA! That's my girl!"

Her mother, Fareeha, was double checking on the chicken. "Dad, can you get the oven mitts?"

"Sure thing, dear."

"Mom, where's mueter?"

Fareeha swept a loose bang out of her face. "Still at the hospital. There was a three car pile up on highway 11. We had to divert the flow to our place."

The Ghost Town hospital was small and a little run down. It could handle most trauma but a three car crash? That was a tough one. Her mueter was a brilliant doctor, legend to have brought people back from the brink of death on the battlefield. She could have worked anywhere she wanted but she chose Ghost Town. Why? Hana never knew.

"How late is she going to be home?"

"Hard to say. It's a tough one out there."

"Oh…"

Fareeha's cell phone, always at her side, went off. She glanced at it and grimaced. "Oh geez…"

"What is it?" Reinhardt asked.

"Fire." Was her instant reply. "The Junker's place. Gotta go! I love you." She kissed Hana on the forehead. "Don't stay up too late now, okay? Mom! I gotta go!"

"Okay honey! Go kick some ass."

"Be safe." Reinhardt said as he helped her with her coat.

"I will. Love you guys."

When your parents were the town's premier firefighter and doctor, it made having family meals nearly impossible. Reinhardt put a heavy hand on his granddaughter's shoulder. "Do not worry, princess. They will be back soon."

"I know…"

"Come, let's have dinner. Ana, my sweet! Dinner!"

"Coming!"

Hana grabbed a plate. She did her best not to pout. This was normal. This was her life. She loved her parents more than anything but she wished they were home more often. But having part time parents were better than no parents at all. This was a fact that she knew all too well. Orphaned at age three during the war, she had been shoved in a foster home with more children then there were beds. It was constant screaming. The noise never went away. It was always something. The children in the orphanage were always crying, or screaming, or shouting.

The orphanage was a maddening place. For the first year that she lived there, Hana was driven to tears more times than she could ever possibly remember. The only thing that she could recall was always going hungry, always on edge. There was never a moment's peace. Those who were smart, struck out for their own when they were old enough to take care of themselves. She had been one of those kids.

She was only six at the time but she was sure that she could take care of herself and do whatever she needed to do to survive. On her first night in the streets, she slept in an alleyway next to a dumpster. She didn't mind. The smell of the trash wasn't any different than sharing a cramped floor in a rundown building.

It was cold that night but she was happy. She was finally free.

And then the bombs fell.

Hana could not recall much. She woke up and heard people screaming. She thought that someone had found her and placed her back in the orphanage but they hadn't. People were dying in the streets. Hana ran for her life. She hadn't gotten far. A building came down. The people she had been running away with were crushed under the rubble but Hana survived. She screamed for help but no one came. She cried. Hana worked herself to the point where she couldn't do anything but cry. The air was thick with dust. Her head was killing her. From inhaling the dust to crying, Hana was on the verge of passing out. From the darkness, light came pouring through.

"We have a survivor!" And there she was. Dr. Zeigler cut through the darkness and the dust. "It is alright, little one." She said in a soft whisper. "I am here and you are safe." She scooped the trembling six year old up. "Are you hurt?"

Hana let out a heartbreaking wail. Dr. Ziegler held her tighter and fought back her own tears.

"I am never going to let anything hurt you."

That was the happiest day of Hana's young life. For Dr. Ziegler, it was that day where she unofficially adopted Hana. Her then girlfriend, Fareeha Amari, wasn't too keen on the idea of adopting Hana though.

"Where are her parents?" Was the first thing she asked over a cup of coffee the next day.

"Dead?" Ziegler shrugged. "I don't know."

"What if her parents are alive and well? We've kidnapped a child!"

"We?"

"You're crazy if you think that I'm letting you raise this kid by yourself." Fareeha took a long sip of her coffee.

Angela smiled warmly. "I was hoping you would say that." She sighed. "Fareeha, I'm so sick of this war. I'm sick of seeing people die."

"You're saving lives."

"Am I?" She scoffed. "There was a soldier. He had gotten trapped in a mine field. He was badly burnt. I didn't believe that he was going to live."

"Did he?"

"He lived but what kind of life he has now, I don't know. I don't think I'm saving anyone. I'm stitching up walking corpses and sending them out to die a second time."

"There's follow up care."

Angela scowled. "You know as well as I do that follow up care is no care at all. It's impossible to get an appointment with anyone, hardly any reputable doctor will take the insurance if they have insurance at all. People are left to die."

"Ang…"

"I have a chance with this girl. I can save her. I can help her."

"Wow, okay. We're doing this then." Fareeha took a deep breath. "I had hoped for a better time to do this." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black box. She put it on the table and pushed it towards Angela "But, hey, no time like the present."

"Wha-What are you-"

"Marry me?"

Angela Ziegler was not crying. She had something in her eye. In less than a week, she had a daughter and a house spouse. The Amari-Zeigler family was formed.

Author's Note: Please leave a review to let me know how I'm doing and also follow me on Twitter (here) for updates and Tumblr for more Overwatch goodness (here)


	8. Shut In

Author's Note: Good morning, all! I hope that everyone is doing well. Please enjoy the latest update of To Be Loved.

On the corner of fifth and main, there was a lovely brick apartment building. There were planters with yellow roses under the windows with light blue shutters. The brick building stood out among the tiny shops and business. It was almost as tall as the ivory courthouse with the green roof down the block. Lena turned right into the apartment's desert garden and hopped up the steps. She fumbled with her key as she yawned. Instead of going straight to her apartment on the second floor, Lena stopped by the office of her landlord, Bastion Metzen. She knocked once and the door opened for her. Lena smiled brightly at her landlord who was reading a magazine.

"Hiya, I brought you something."

Bastion nodded gratefully as Lena relaxed on the couch opposite of his desk. Ganymede flew to her.

"Hi there, pretty boy." She chirped.

Bastion and Tracer had developed a strange relationship. She came to Ghost Town not long after he did. Without a friend in the world, she latched onto him, not that he minded. For as much as Bastion liked his peace and quiet, he still needed people. For Lena, she needed a friend to fall back on. Once she was moved in and had her first job, a nightly ritual began. She brought him food, always a cheeseburger with fries with a medium coke, and he stayed up until she got home. He didn't mind. He had trouble sleeping and was more than happy to stay up late to ensure that she returned home safely. It worried him that she worked so late at night and didn't have a ride home.

"How was your day?" She asked.

Bastion, to Lena's knowledge, never spoke. He had been injured in the war. He lost his legs, much of the control in his arms, and he was never able to speak again. His injuries, however, did not deter Bastion from communicating. He wrote down his thoughts.

 **Good. You?**

"I met someone new!" Lena said excitedly.

 **Who?**

"A guy. His name is Winston."

 **I've never heard of him.**

Lena shrugged. "I got the feeling that he doesn't get out a lot. I think he could use a friend."

 **As long as you stay safe.**

"Hey, I'm tough." She flexed her arms and puffed out her chest. "See?"

Bastion shook his head. **Just stay safe**.

"I will." She swung her legs over the side of the couch. "Hey, do you want to go to the park later on today? It's my day off."

 **Can't. The dryer is on the fritz. Making an awful noise. I'm meeting the repairman.**

"Oh…" She tried not to sound disappointed. "Okay…"

Bastion was her friend but running an apartment took a lot of time. This, unfortunately, limited whatever time they could spend together but it made her cherish the time that they had.

 **Want a fry**? Bastion offered her

"Yeah." She ate her fry and yawned again.

 **Go get some sleep, kiddo.**

"You too."

Lena stretched as she left the office. She didn't have to go very far to get to her apartment. It was on the second floor and was the last door at the end of the hall.

"I'm home everyone." She announced to no one.

Lena lived alone in a tiny apartment. She slipped out of her running shoes and enjoyed the feel of her bare feet against the carpet. Falling down on her couch, Lena yawned and turned on her television. She didn't understand American television. It seemed like they were nothing but reality shows. Thank God for BBC.

"Doooooo wwweeeee oooooo." She sang along to the theme song before her eyes got heavy. She didn't make it five minutes into her show before she fell asleep. When Lena did wake up a few hours later, her entire body was stiff. She groaned and shut her television off as she went to her bathroom. Brushing her teeth, she mentally berated herself for not sleeping in her nice comfy bed and in the same thought, knew that if she had a roommate, they would have been kind enough to have woken her up and made her go to bed, instead of crashing on the couch.

A sudden crashing sound, coming from the basement, jolted Lena right awake. Had Bastion fallen again? He had a history of falling. Lately, he was pushing himself to be more mobile but his prosthetics were crude at best. They couldn't handle everything that he wanted to do which only infuriated the veteran. Fearing for her friend's safety, Lena dashed out of her apartment and ran down stairs.

Bastion hadn't fallen. He was talking to a man in blue jumpsuit. It was the repairman. The repairman was quite large, impossibly so. He was simply too big to be real. Tracer stared at him as he worked. Even as he crouched, he towered over Bastion and had a rather large stomach. His face was obscured by a white allergy mask and his white hair was in a short pony tail.

He grumbled as he inspected the machine. "I'll have to take it in." His voice reminded Lena of thunder, the way he rumbled each word. Bastion nodded.

 **I'll let the residents know.**

The massive repairman got up. He took the dryer and single-handedly lifted it up. He waited for Bastion to leave the basement first. It was hard for the war veteran. He was still getting used to walking with his prosthetics. On the last step up, Bastion slipped. Lena gasped but before she could do anything, the repairman caught him.

"Slow down." He said. "You're going too fast."

Bastion's face scrunched up. He wanted to go fast. He wanted to walk like he used to but thought against speaking of it to the repairman. It he did talk, then people would ask how he lost his legs and that would put him right back in the middle of the war. He couldn't go back there. He didn't want to remember it. Bastion nodded and hobbled back into his office. He shut the blinds.

"Excuse me, miss." Rumbled the repairman. He shuffled around her, still carrying the dryer on his shoulder. Lena zipped to the door and held it open for him. Amazingly he was able to squeeze through the tiny doorway. He put the dryer on the back of his beat up truck which had flames painted on it's side.

"Thank you." He said as he got in his truck. "Take it easy."

The car roared to life and in an instant, the repairman was gone. Tracer went back inside the apartment complex. She wanted to check up on Bastion. She knocked on the door.

"Are you okay?"

A note came out from under the door.

 **Fine.**

"Are you sure?"

 **Yes.**

"Can I come in?"

 **No.**

Another note was slipped out.

 **Do me a favor?**

"Sure. What do you need?"

 **Deliver the mail to B1**

"Okay. What do you-"

Another note.

 **Go. Now.**

"Ah." She hastily picked up the mail. "I'll check on you later, okay?"

 **Go.**

Lena left deciding that it would be better for Bastion to cool off for a little bit. Apartment B1 was the first apartment on the second floor. She didn't know that anyone lived here. She thought it was vacant. "Hello?" She knocked on the door. "Hello? I'm here to deliver your mail. I live down the hall from you."

"Leave it, please." The voice said, muffled by the door. "Just shove it under the door."

Lena crouched down. It didn't look like there was much room to shove the mail underneath B1's door. "I don't think I can." Lena grabbed the doorknob. "Would you mind opening the door? I could hand it to you."

"No!" The voice was horrified at the prospect.

"A-Are you sure?"

"Yes please, just go."

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine!" The voice on the other side snapped. "Please leave! I need to be alone."

Lena stepped back, shocked. "O-Okay." But she couldn't the voice, whoever it was, she was in distress. Lena thought about this very carefully. She couldn't open the door because it was locked and doing so would probably traumatize whoever lived in B1. But she felt bad about leaving B1 too. Lena pouted. First Bastion, then Winston, and now B1. It seemed like this town was full of shut-ins. Everyone was disconnected and she was alone. Lena shook her head and decided that here, in this hallway, on this day, she was going to be friends with the shut-ins. Everyone deserved a friend. Everyone needed someone.

She was going to be their someone.

Lena ran to her apartment and grabbed a pen. She scribbled a note on the back of a bill and return to the front door of B1's door. "I'm leaving your mail now. I hope you're okay."

The voice said nothing.

Lena took a deep breath. "Goodbye." She went back to her own apartment and left the mysterious tenant in B1 alone. Hours later, when B1 was sure that Lena was gone. The door slowly opened, just enough for slender fingers to grasp the mail. The tenant in B1 shut the door and returned to the safety that was her apartment. When all the door was shut and all five locks were secure, it was only then that Amelie Lacriox could breathe a sigh of relief. She did not notice Lena's message on her mail.

 _You don't know this but we're going to be besties._

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment below to let me know how I'm doing and follow me on Twitter (here) and Tumblr for updates and more Overwatch goodness (here).


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